I am afraid of you, of the circumstances that have wrenched you out of nothingness and have brought you here, against my body, silent and sullen. Both of us unwilling to compromise and yield that moment of recognition to the other. It is not as if we are unfamiliar with that deep-seated need to win, and come out on top, yet like two lionesses circling, there is no surrender in sight.

In the end, we wait in silence, taking comfort that neither of us has moved away from the other. From one breath to another, your voice breaks the quiet and we both accept that the change in topic is neither surrender nor acceptance but merely a detente that lasts until the next time where our eyes and opinions clash once more. All is fast, violent, without conscience: I lose myself in nothingness.

II. 160 words total; 151 words inside the prompts

Seven floors, a thousand steps. It might as well have been as far away as the moon, and just as unattainable. It was easier to pretend that she didn't try to time her lunches out of the Runway offices to coincide with the futile effort of catching another glimpse of rich brown strands, wind-blown against a face that was thrown back in laughter.

Ever since that afternoon and the unanswered gesture of greeting, Miranda had questioned her own sanity too many times for comfort. First by giving that contradictory reference, and then admiring the cheek of Andrea to wave from across the street, as if she expected some plebeian response. She'd almost given in and waved back, but quickly chose to seat herself in the car before she revealed too much to anyone. It was so easy to watch the girl from behind vintage Versace, a gaze unwilling to release her into the anonymity of the crowds. Love is walking away.

III. 184 words total; 172 words inside the prompts

March sky, barefoot in blue, her eyes are brighter than the sun. Stepping away from the tedium that is the day-to-day and taking a moment to breath and be left along is a luxury like no other. For the moment of time between blinking, there's that wellspring of yearning that seems to burble through at the most inopportune time. Wanting what she didn't have, and dreaming of roads untaken as if she could have made different choices in a heartbeat's time.

Only in the rarest of opportunities do second chances really happen. Recognizing it is difficult enough -- as if a deep dark wish had been made real, there's that hesitation to reach out and touch this new possibility. Stepping in the same river could never happen, but good fortune might bring about an intersection of interests unknown, as if turning the world on its head. The intervening time might have been weeks, months or years, but the conversation that had paused itself, reassembled the sequence into coherence and resumed as if it had never stopped at all. Your voice is a whisper of snow.